Demise of Yourself
by pineconeface711
Summary: When you look into the mirror, you see a familiar face, but it looks more like a distant memory you keep trying to remember. You will never remember that person anymore. They are long gone after your name was reaped. Now you live in an incomplete puzzle


When they pull your name, your heart freezes icily. This hasn't happened. This couldn't have been right. How could it be? You are only in school. You have so much life to live. You never thought it'd be you reaped into the Games. Surely you are going to die.

Then you are whisked away from your fellow tribute and thrown into the government center of your district. It's a very fancy and decadent place, but you don't notice it. Not even when you sit on the plush seats of a silken couch. Your only thoughts are how little time you have left.

First a group of your closest friends storm in. They've none you since you were a mere baby. They know your strengths and weaknesses better than you. Perhaps that's why they cry harder when you tell them you're a fighter. It's a lie you know you're telling. They know it too when you begin to sob.

You cry for them when they are taken away. And try to compose yourself when your family enters. It doesn't work even well. The tears still mark your cheeks and your voice is barely composed.

Almost immediately your mother hugs you and sobs. She cries for her baby to stay. You wish you could. You think of words to soothe her but none come. It's because there won't be anything comforting to say when you die on national TV.

Your older brother tries to tell you that you have a chance; that you have some skills. This is true you know some edible fruits and how to throw a good punch, but you know it's not enough.

Your father just sits in a chair and looks at you. It seems as though he already knows what flowers which look best decorated around the casket at your funeral.

They are removed from your room all too soon.

You stalk around the train they've put you on. You did not care to hear from your trainers or the other tribute.

Eventually, you do join them for dinner. The food they serve is a rich magnificent concoction. It is unworldly how delicious it is. You think to how lucky the people in the Capital are; great parties, outstanding food, and a place where the Games are just for entertainment and not death. How you wish you knew how the last one felt

When you lay to sleep that night under the down blankets, you dream of a knife aimed towards your heart. It scares you how real the dream felt. You wonder if might be a vision waiting to be told.

You wait another two day on the train with food to good for words and nightmares that make your heart beat faster than the train.

Once you meet your stylist, you feel somewhat better. She has a confident air to her to make you sure you look better than no one else. It soon fades after you're attacked by the makeup artists for hours of painful plucking, waxing, tweezing, and getting strange goops of various something slathered onto your raw body. When it ends you feel better and cleaner than you had ever felt. Finally a reason to be thankful.

The next night you parade in on the opening ceremony. You begin to develop that confidence to as you hold a cunning smile to the audience. They scream your name like you're a celebrity. It must be because they do not know the coward in your heart.

You enter the training arena for the first time. Automatically, you feel like you don't belong. You see the other tributes with sculpted arms and knowledge of survival far beyond yours. You shrink to the shadows of the knife wielding station. You think it might be best to learn how to handle a weapon; even if you've sworn not to kill a single person.

That night before you go to sleep, you pray that while you're in the arena you don't lose yourself. After all isn't more important to die as yourself than win as a stranger?

Time ticks by faster than you expected. Today you get your training score, which is a simple six.

In your interview you go out smiling and act gracious when answering questions. It's almost as if you're being interviewed for a job.

Too fast the time goes by because that morning you enter into a hovercraft and it brings you to the arena. You can't stop the churning in your stomach, even the words of encouragement don't help. The uneasiness remains when your outfit is presented to you. There are thick water proof pants, a sweat resistant shirt, padded jacket with pit zips, gloves, and sturdy boots. This is not good your mind tells you. But didn't you already know that.

The plate you stand on brings you in the arena. Your heart is so close to running out of your chest, it's unreal because right in front of you is miles and miles of a snowy ground. No food bedsides what lay in the gleaming cornucopia. And worst of all no place to hide; at least not in a white landscape wearing black.

The gong sounds and you zoom off your spot. Already do you see a body limp and blood coated. You dive your hand down into the cornucopia when two tributes start fighting. You managed to get matches and a silver flask. You run further down the line to grab some dried fruit and a dagger.

Next you try to run but a skinny, malicious boy jumps into your way holding a sharp ax. He swings, but you duck and cut at his ankle. Before he can recover you run. Even though some part of you thinks it would be better to off him. You sprint away before you listen to the beast.

You run through the winter landscape as far as you can. No one seems to bother you. It makes this experience a little better but not by much. You think how easy it will by to find you with your tracks everywhere in sight. It's only comforting that the falling snow and other tributes footsteps will be misleading.

You stop for a moment to listen to the canon; it sounds fifteen times. That leaves eight, excluding you. You understand these games will last no longer than three days, today included. You wonder on which you'll be gone.

Finally you stop at a clump of Pine Trees. You've seen a few similar copies of these, but at the moment you can't carry on in the darkness of the night. The anthem of the Capitol has already played and the faces of the dead have been shown. You hope there murders' are haunted by them. No, you hope the Capitol feels remorse. If only they did.

Your teeth are chattering from the freezing temperatures. You wished you had gotten your hands on a sleeping bag. Your stomach rumbles and throat is in dire need of quenching. After such a long trek you could pass out right then in there.

You develop an idea by taking the flask that has been in your hands and pile snow in it. Very carefully, you light a match and hold it to the snow. You're satisfied to see the water you melted and gulp it luxuriously. Then a canon booms, and you remember that this isn't something to take lightly.

Soon you find yourself falling asleep. You dream of home; you can even smell the smells your district has. And now you wish that the Games were over right now because home seems so far away.

The warmness fades away when you hear the trees rustle you grab your stuff and start to take off. It looks like the early hours of the morning. The snow is no longer coming down so hard.

Instead of escaping your nightmare, you run into it. A girl appears right in front of you. She looks like she could a match for you with a knife almost identical to yours clutched in her hand. The look in her eyes tells you she came to fight.

So you bring out your knife and dodge her as it barely misses your throat. You put a nasty scratch on her arm as she gets your cheek. The beast inside of you takes over as you hear the sound of another canon. The girl isn't fazed by it at all. And that's when the monster in your head takes control.

You parry her and go straight for the stomach. As she falls to the ground, surprised by your maneuver, your grab her wrist with the knife and bend it back until it cracks. Within a second your blade pierces her heart and the canon goes off. You look into the eyes of the girl that will haunt your dreams forever.

_ What have I done?_ Is your only thought as you retrieve a new blade from the girl; if only you could take back what you've done.

Slowly you walk away, you feel ashamed of yourself. But you still drag yourself throughout forest. It makes you feel a little better that you've made pretty far but not far enough. No, that will never happen.

After what seemed like years, you stop to eat your dried fruit. Much to your stomach protest, you stop so more food will be available for later. You really don't want to start walking again; it's so cold out. You can't feel your face anymore.

After finally working up the will to move again and crawling, it seemed more than walking farther; you come to a devastating sight: there is a small child- back turned to you not moving. You sympathize because it really is that cold. So you stab them in the back twice: each with a different knife. And the canon sounds.

This time you think it's the more humane thing to do. Though his family at home hates you more than the Hunger Games.

You change your path when you come across another set of foot prints in the snow.

You allow you body to collapse in the snow and swallow the snow that is in your mouth. You shiver so hard it makes you dizzy. Maybe you'll be out of the Games soon by dying of the cold.

You can't bear to watch the anthem tonight to see the faces you've murdered. Murdered? You never realized how foul the word was. Then again, you never realized how terrible you are.

You wake up from your dream to hear the cries of the other tributes. You try to move but it doesn't seem possible; it's too cold too. Your head feels fuzzy and you can't think straight.

The yelling and the sounds of fighting get closer. You have a slight idea that it might be the careers and they're finally deciding to break up, but you're footprints still remain. You hear another canon sound. Then another. And now a last one.

Slowly you try to get up and till your standing wobbly. Then a person appears. It is truly a gruesome sight. The boy, who probably used to be a ladies' man, was missing an arm and his left eye didn't look like it could pop out of the socket at any moment.

He looks at you as you dive on top of him. You can't seem to find where his weapon is, but he punches you in the face to catch you off guard. It works and he grabs one of your and slashes your face. You in pain, as you aim for his throat. He blocks and throws you off of him and you get slammed into a tree. Your right leg is definitely broken, you realize when he approaches. Right when he gets into within your range you cut his throat. And the canon booms.

You sink into the ground of the snow. Everything on your body is throbbing. The deep gash on your head bleeds freely. You feel like crying right now, so the tears oblige. All you want is to wake up and find out this was all a bad dream. You cry to your mom for things to get better. Now the final tribute appears.

He is a sight to behold. He shoulders bulge and has a cruel face. Around his mouth is coated in blood, like he ate the tributes he killed. In those strong hands is a doubled sided ax. You cry harder and don't move when he stand above you holding the ax.

The ground starts moving; you figure you're just delirious. However he falls with his ax and snow starts pushing you forward down the steep slope. Your being suffocated as you're rolled all too fast down the hill. Your back makes a sickening popping sound as it makes contact with a rock; as does your head.

So when the canon makes a boom and the hover craft lifts you; you assume it's because you've lost. The attendant's smile at you with congratulatory words.

Then it sinks in you've won, when you wake up with machines hooked up to your body. You don't smile.

Back home everyone cheers for you because you're alive. You put on a fake smile- because you don't feel alive anymore. No, you are in your body but this is not you. You get to be back home with everyone you love but the Hunger games were no nightmare. They were as real as what you've become.

On the victory, you say great speeches and use fake giggle, but every time you look into the faces of the families who have lost the child, you want to scream I hate myself too. You never do though.

At night when you sleep, you see everyone who died in the Games. They say nothing but stare with glowing eyes. You tell them you're sorry but the only stare.

When you look in the mirror, you see familiar face but it looks more like a distant memory you keep trying to remember. It was like having an incomplete puzzle; trying to find the pieces so they fit. But these pieces will never be found because you are no longer the person in the mirror. No, that was you before. Now you are a soulless person who became a pawn and murdered innocent children. Some deep in heart knows that this isn't. No, this is always who you've been. It is just more apparent now that it's been exercised.

You can't wait until you die. You hope you are greeted by those from the arena. Maybe then they'll get the justice they deserve.

These thoughts occur to you when you're only fifteen. Two years after you've won the games. That was when you were young and naive and had no chance of winning. Now it feels like you have no chance to die.

**A/N: So that was my first Hunger Games fanfic. Love it? Hate it? I accept flames and adore constructive criticism.**


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